


Safety in Numbers

by mldrgrl



Series: Adventures of The Lady Detective and The Writer [54]
Category: Californication (TV), The Fall (TV 2013)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Quarantine, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:07:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24672835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mldrgrl/pseuds/mldrgrl
Summary: A lot of you have been asking what Hanella have been up to in quarantine.  Well, here you go!
Relationships: Stella Gibson/Hank Moody
Series: Adventures of The Lady Detective and The Writer [54]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/577279
Comments: 21
Kudos: 56





	Safety in Numbers

It happens so quickly and it’s shocking, even if she suspected it might happen. Overnight, everything just stops. An emergency conference call is held and just like that, she’s teaching in a virtual classroom and toilet paper is suddenly one of her biggest concerns. And the nightmares come, stealing her sleep and leaving her restless. It’s only been a week.

Unable to sit still to give a lecture, she creates a station for herself on the butcher’s block in the kitchen area. If her students only knew the things that had happened on that butcher’s block, but she could say that about nearly every wall and surface of the loft. They’d probably never imagine she was capable, not in a million years. She’s heard stories of other classrooms turning this new landscape they were in into entertainment - wearing silly hats, creating silly backgrounds on their screens, wearing pajamas - but not her. She makes it clear from day one, criminology is a serious study and they are to treat it as such.

She’s just ended a discourse on crime scene containment when Hank emerges from the bedroom. He hasn’t showered or shaved yet, even though it’s noon and she knows he’s been up writing since before she began her lecture. His eyes are squinted and his lip is curled up as though he’s just eaten something distasteful.

“What timing,” Stella says, closing the lid of her laptop.

“Yeah, I…” Hank pauses and rubs the back of his head so that his hair spikes up. “Uh…”

“Something the matter, Watson?”

“Karen just called me.”

Stella is immediately awash with concern. “Everything alright? Is someone ill?”

“I don’t know. She wants you to call her. Said she would’ve actually called you herself, but she wasn’t sure of your teaching schedule and didn’t want to interrupt.” 

“I’ll ring her now. Any idea what it’s about?”

“None. She assured me no one was dying, but that it was important. I’ve been climbing the walls in the room waiting until your class was over.”

“Well, you were quite prompt.” Stella crosses the room to the coffee table where her mobile is charging. She unplugs it and unlocks the screen. She pulls up Karen’s contact card and initiates the call.

“Oh good,” Karen answers immediately. “Hank told you I called.”

“Yes, he’s pacing the room like a caged animal. Do you mind if I put you on speaker?”

“Please, I want to run something by the both of you, actually.”

“Alright.” Stella sits down on the sectional sofa and puts the call on speaker. She holds the phone in her palm and points it towards Hank who’s biting his thumbnail and shuffling back and forth along the other side of the coffee table.

“I’ve been trying to get Becca to come up here once this whole quarantining, shelter-in-place thing started happening.”

“We tried as well,” Stella says.

“I know. And I totally get that she’s an adult and has her own life and all that, but she finally agreed this morning.”

“That’s wonderful.” Stella glances up at Hank. “It’s been a concern for us.”

“Well, what I was thinking is that you guys should come up too.”

“Us?”

“What do you mean?” Hank asks.

“I mean, you should come stay in the guest house.”

“That’s a very generous offer-” Stella starts, but she’s interrupted.

“I’m worried about the two of you as much as Becca,” Karen says. “Have you been outside at all? Can you even go outside?”

“Not since Hank’s birthday, actually.”

“See. You guys can be here and Becca will be here and then we won’t have to worry about you. Stella, Fish said he’ll set you up in his office for your classes. He’s turning the garage into a studio anyway and isn’t even using it.”

There was muffled shouting in the background.

“And he says the barbeque is ready,” Karen adds. Hank rolls his eyes in response.

“I think it’s something we’d need to discuss,” Stella says. “This isn’t likely to last just days or weeks. We’re looking at months. It’s possible travel even between states could be restricted.”

“Exactly,” Karen says. “That’s even more reason why you should come. If it gets that bad, you may not be able to get here.”

_ When, _ Stella thinks.  _ Not if. _

“When are you picking Becca up?” Hank asks.

“Saturday. Probably mid-morning. We can just pop over after that and grab you two before heading back.”

“You’ve certainly given us something to consider,” Stella says. “We’ll have a chat about it and get back with you.”

“I just really think you guys should be with family, you know?”

It’s that statement that tightens Stella’s chest. She’s been without a proverbial family for most of her life and still lacks experience with feeling accountable to another person, let alone others. But, she does feel accountable now and though she’d like to write Karen’s offer off as being a polite, albeit meaningless request, she knows it’s not.

They have a few more minutes of lighter conversation and then they hang up with Stella promising they’ll seriously consider Karen’s offer and get back with her. There’s a few moments of silence after Stella disconnects the call and she watches Hank. He’d slumped down on the sofa before they’d hung up and began chewing the inside of his cheek and staring out the window.

“Thoughts?” Stella asks.

“I don’t even know what to fucking think right now.”

“Are you inclined to say no?”

“Are you inclined to say yes?”

“I’m not inclined to say anything until we discuss it.”

“You didn’t think it was weird?”

“No more strange than being invited for weekends, really. And we’ve certainly done that.” 

“So you want to go?”

“I’m merely positing that I don’t believe it was a strange or disingenuous offer.”

“I wonder how she wore Becca down.”

Stella shrugs and then slumps back beside Hank. “I’m glad she’s going. It’s a better place for her to be instead of cooped up in her flat all alone. Or here, really, where privacy would be limited.”

“And what if something does happen, like Karen said? How would we get there.”

“That may not be an option.”

Just as Stella drops a gentle hand on Hank’s knee, he jumps up from the couch and begins to pace again. She folds her hands over her lap to give him the time he clearly needs to put together his thoughts.

“I can’t fucking believe I’m living in a world where I have to consider moving in with my ex and the guy she’s shacking up with.”

“And your wife.”

“I mean ‘I’ like the royal ‘we.’ There is no ‘I,’ there’s only we. Us. Whatever. You know what I fucking mean.”

“So then we’ll not consider it. It sounds as though you’ve made up your mind about it already anyway.”

“Feel free to chime in with your thoughts at any time.” He puts his hands together as if in prayer and bows towards her slightly. “This feels like a rather one-sided discussion.”

“I could think of dozens of reasons to stay, but weigh that against one very good reason to go and, well...”

“Becca?” Hank asks.

“I know what it’s meant to you growing closer to her since we’ve been back. It’s actually meant something to me as well. And, I think I have an idea of what it might be like for you to go from seeing her so often to not at all, with no idea when the next time may be.”

Hank puts his hands to his face and pulls his skin down as he rubs at his cheeks and forehead. 

“What has your knickers all in a twist over this, Watson?” she asks. “It’s only an offer and we can respectfully decline.”

“I don’t know.” He shakes his head and drops his hands. “I just...Karen and I were together for a long time and we’ve been through a lot of shit together. I love her, but there are times...I suddenly remember how much I fucking resent her and the chain events she started. And I realize that might sound like...I mean, it doesn’t account for the actual contentment and happiness I have at this time in my life. I just can’t fucking forget sometimes. It’s easier to do that when we’re apart.”

Stella is not a coddler by nature. Offering comfort isn’t something that comes naturally or easy for her, but there are times when the inclination to soothe comes over her. She stands and takes the few steps necessary to reach Hank. First she takes him by the hips and then slides her hands up to his chest and then over his shoulders to link her fingers behind his neck.

“Are you thinking you’re sorry you married such a pussyass bitch?” Hank asks.

“Strange as it sounds, I was actually thinking about how much I love you,” she answers. 

“Stop it, Sherlock, you’ll make me cry.”

She pinches his nape lightly. “Don’t be such a pussyass bitch.”

“And suddenly I’m very turned on.”

“You’re always turned on.”

“Pot. Kettle. Black.”

She shrugs. “I’m not going to give Karen an answer until tomorrow. I want you to think very hard about what you want to do because it’s not something we can change our minds on.”

“Do you want to go, Sherlock?”

“I told you, I can think of one very good reason to go and many reasons not to.”

“Yeah, that’s what you said, but I feel like that’s an ambiguous answer. Do you  _ want _ to go?”

Stella loosens her fingers at Hank’s neck and let’s her hands slide back to his shoulders. She isn’t quite sure how to express the depth of the anxiety she feels about the situation to Hank or how hard she’s fought to suppress it. The pages of her dream journal are rapidly being filled though.

“I think,” she says. “For once, I might like to escape from danger instead of staring down the barrel at it.”

*****

They have one more discussion about Karen’s offer and though Hank still seems torn about what to do, he tells Stella he thinks they should go and asks if she’ll call Karen. Before she can even grab her phone, he goes up to the roof and so she places the call by herself. Karen is thrilled. Stella can feel her elation through the phone, if that’s possible.

“This is so great,” Karen says. “Bring whatever you need and even if you forget something, I’m sure we’ll have it. Or we can get it. You don’t have to worry about anything. You know, honestly, I expected to have to sell you guys even harder than I did Becca. I’m so relieved.”

“How  _ did _ you manage to convince Becca to come up and stay? She seemed very adamant about remaining on her own when we spoke with her.”

“I think I opened her eyes a little to how isolated she might be. I also may have shamelessly reminded her that the pool was heated and all her meals and laundry would be taken care of, which was going to be my next tactic with you.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that. Well…” Stella hesitates for a moment. “Actually, I feel I should warn you that I’m rubbish in the kitchen. We always order out.”

Karen laughs. “Well, then you’re coming to the right place, honey. I love to cook, and it’s way more fun when it’s for more than two. Or three.”

“My fear is that you’ll tire of us. I don’t want to be an added burden in any way.”

“Hank, maybe. You, never.” Karen laughs again. “And, honestly, if Hank and I start to piss each other off, it never lasts long.”

“His fear is that the two of you might quarrel.”

“He does get on my last fucking nerve sometimes, but it’s been a really long time since we’ve sworn we’d hate each other for the rest of our lives. A lot has changed since then. For the better, obviously.”

“You sound quite certain.”

“The only thing I’m certain of is that if we haven’t killed each other by now, we probably won’t.”

“I do suppose the odds are favorable in that respect.”

“Listen, I  _ want _ you guys here, I really do. Maybe I’m being silly or overreacting to this, but I think if we can be together during this, we should. I think we’ve talked about this a little before, but Hank and Becca, they just function better when they remain in each other’s orbit.”

“Yes, I agree.”

“So, I think this is really in the best interest of all of us to do this. I know what  _ I’m _ like when I’m crazy worried about Becca and I know what Hank is like. But, then it’s you and Fish that have to suffer for it.”

“Well, I wouldn’t call it suffering.”

“But, you know what I mean.”

“I’ve never been a parent-”

“Bull shit, Stella.”

“Pardon?”

“That’s bull shit. You might have come around later in her life, but you’re a Mom to Becca. Don’t worry, I’m not one of those women who can’t deal with the idea of their kid having an extra parent. I only wish you would’ve been here sooner.”

Stella blinks, stunned into a sudden silence. Her throat tightens a little and her nose stings with the onset of tears, but she swallows them back and takes a calming breath.

“I was going to say that I’ve never been a parent, but having had Becca in my life for these past few years, I can understand the inclination to want to protect and prioritize one’s child.”

“I know you understand. That’s why we’re all so lucky to have you.”

“Thank you for that, I…” Stella stops and pinches away the burning sense of emotion between her brows. “I feel as though I’m the lucky one.”

“Let’s call it mutual.”

“We can do that.” 

“And honestly, one of the selling points for getting Becca to come up was that I told her I’d have the two of you on board as well. You can’t make a liar of me.”

“No, I suppose we can’t.”

“Okay, so we’ll see you guys on Saturday. I’ll call when we’re leaving Becca’s. Everything will be perfectly fine, I promise.”

“Alright. We’ll see you soon.”

Stella hangs up the phone and then sits quietly for a few minutes before she goes up to the roof to find Hank. The sun has gone down and grey twilight has set in. Though it was an unusually warm day, it’s gone a bit chilly. She pulls her thin silk robe a little tighter and crosses her arms over each other for warmth. Hank is reclining in one of the lounge chairs, a glass of whiskey in his hand. 

“Did you tell Karen the happy news?” he asks.

“I did. She was very pleased.”

“Mm.”

“I don’t think there will be anything to worry about.”

“No?”

“No.” Stella straddles Hank’s lap over the lounge chair and sits on his thighs. He puts one hand on her hip and takes a sip of his whiskey.

“The world is so fucking weird right now,” he says. “I don’t know how to comprehend it.”

“No one does, I’m sure.”

“Even you, Sherlock?”

“Even me.”

He tips his head back to look at her and brushes the hem of her robe aside to slide his hand up the outside of her thigh. They gaze at each other for a long while, he rubbing the top of her thigh and she plucking mindlessly at the black t-shirt covering his chest. Her robe slips down her shoulder a little and he reaches up as though he’s going to slide it back in place, but instead he caresses the back of her arm and pets the strap of her tank top with the back of his hand. Eventually, he sets his whiskey glass down on the little table next to the lounge and unties the knot holding her robe closed.

“Still fantasize about fucking on the roof?” he asks.

“It was never a fantasy, just a fleeting thought.”

“Is it crossing your mind right now?”

“It might be.”

“It’s definitely crossing mine.”

“I can tell.” 

She reaches down to cup the rigid bulge straining the fly of his jeans. He grunts slightly and rubs the strip of skin showing below her navel with his thumb, between the loose edge of her tank top and lace edge of her panties. Her skin becomes rippled with gooseflesh. Within seconds, she’s swollen and pulses with arousal. 

Deftly, Stella pushes the buttons free along the fly of Hank’s jeans, from top to bottom. He adjusts his hips as she brings him out into the closed heat of her fist. It doesn’t take but a few strokes and strategic swirls of her thumb to have him panting and groaning under her. 

“Quiet,” she whispers, leaning close enough so she can flick her tongue out and catch his bottom lip.

“Make me,” he murmurs. 

She strokes him a little harder and then stops to raise up onto her knees. Still gripping him tightly, she hooks her panties to the side and sinks down in one swift motion. If he misses any extended foreplay, he doesn’t show it. It’s a shut up and fuck me moment for her where all she wants and needs is his cock inside of her at just the right angle and she can handle the rest. And he knows her well enough by now to know when to lay back and enjoy the ride. She’ll make it up to him later by letting him fondle her in the shower, perhaps surprising him by requesting he wash her back, and then her front. 

For the most part, Hank just holds onto the flare of Stella’s hips and lets her set the pace. She grips his shoulders and uses them for leverage to lift up, to arch her back, to roll her pelvis forward, and then to relax her thighs and do it all again. They both know, from time and experience, just how quick and effective this particular move is for both of them.

“So fucking good,” he purrs. He reaches up and grips Stella’s hair at the back of her head and pulls her down for a brief, but deep kiss. She sinks her teeth into his bottom lip before she pulls away. He licks the sting of it away.

When his little grunts of pleasure and encouragement grow too loud, she slaps her hand over his mouth and slips two fingers inside. He bites down lightly and slips his tongue along the seam between her fingers, and she burns just a little more painfully with desire for him.

“Come on,” she says, slipping her hand down from his shoulder to root out his nipple over his shirt. When she finds the taut little pebble, she gives it a tweak between her thumb and forefinger, grinding her pubic bone down against his as she does. 

Hank gives a muffled cry from under her hand and his hips jerk up. The muscles in his neck strain when she does it again and his fingers dig roughly into her ass as he holds her in place. She squeezes him boneless and moves his hand out of the way as he tries to help bring her over the edge to do it herself. When the tension finally breaks and she splits apart with a terrible tremble, she gives a long moan of relief and then slowly brings herself down to rest against Hank’s chest. He puts his arms around her and his chin on her shoulder.

“You’re all that makes sense to me right now, Sherlock” he says.

She doesn’t answer, but she finds the spot on the left side of his chest where she can feel his heart beating and presses her lips to it.

******

Saturday afternoon, they’re packed and ready. Stella took the lead on preparation, experienced in planning for extended time away from home. Becca and Karen’s arrival is awkward as no one quite knows what the protocol is for both reuniting and remaining distant at the same time. They’ve talked about keeping cautious for the first week or so and keeping masks and gloves on for safety.

The ride up to Connecticut is gloomy. It’s drizzled off and on for a few days and today it finally culminates into a steady downpour. No one knows quite what to say, and even Hank, who normally can’t tolerate silence, doesn’t say much. When they arrive, they take their bags out to the guesthouse which has been transformed once again with a nautical theme. The last time they were there, at Christmas, it had a distinctly rustic flare.

“I’m seasick just looking at it,” Hank says, pulling his mask free from his ears. “I might vomit.”

“The accent wall is a lovely shade of blue.”

“Tell me again we made the right choice.”

“We made the right choice.”

“And this will all work out.”

“It’s going to work out.”

“I’m the best sex you’ve ever had, none can compare.”

“I’m the best sex you’ve ever had,” she parrots. “None can compare.”

“Smartass.”

“You walked right into that one.”

******

The first week feels endless and strange. Stella has to utilize the upstairs office in the main house for her lectures and they all gather for dinners outside on the patio, but conversation is stilted and there is tension in the air. 

It’s quickly apparent that the situation has brought underlying anxieties to the surface. Stella’s strange dreams start to bring on episodes of sleep paralysis, something she hasn’t dealt with in some years. Hank also seems to cling to her more tightly and for longer periods of time when they go to bed. He doesn’t even try to initiate sex, prefering to hold her than fuck her. It would bother her, but she also discovers something about herself that gives her pause and makes her re-evaluate her stance on cuddling: when faced with the reality that she is now in the same room on a daily basis as the people she loves most in the world, but is simply not able to embrace them, the ache it brings puts the importance of touch into perspective. And if she’s feeling this way, she knows it’s exponentially worse for Hank.

Her birthday approaches and she asks Hank to please not mention it, to please make sure it comes and goes without acknowledgment. Aside from waking that morning with Hank’s face between her thighs and the double chocolate brownies that are served after dinner, it passes unnoticed. She’s grateful for that.

As the second week comes to a close, everyone seems to exhale and begin to relax. The turning point seems to come when Fish unexpectedly asks Hank to come and have a look at the studio he’s been working on. With Hank occupied, Stella asks Karen if she could help in the kitchen.

“You’ll have to instruct me on what to do,” Stella says. “And don’t assume I know the difference between dicing and chopping.”

“Lesson one,” Karen answers. “We start with a glass of wine.”

Thus begins the evening cooking lessons. Becca joins in when she discovers what they’re doing and the three of them spend those few hours a day drinking and laughing while also trying to give Stella a handle on the basics of simple meal preparation.

“What’s your favorite meal?” Karen asks Stella one evening. They’ve gathered around the kitchen island, making lists of recipes to try. Karen is looking everything up on her phone, elbows on the counter. “Something you love,” she adds. “But that you wouldn’t think you could make for yourself?”

“Oh, that’s a rather difficult question,” Stella answers, but gives it some thought, sipping her glass of wine. “It isn’t really a meal, but I do miss the Cornish pasties I used to get from time to time at a shop back in London.”

“Mmhm.” Karen taps Cornish pasties recipes into Google while Becca looks over her shoulder.

“They look like empanadas,” Becca says. “Wait, go back, there’s a vegetarian one too.”

“We could totally do these. Put skirt steak, leeks, and rutabaga on the list. We’ve got enough onions. And potatoes. Check to see if there are any carrots left.”

“How did you first learn to cook?” Stella asks.

“Oh, I don’t know, I was studying all the time and stuck at home with this one,” Karen answers, pointing her thumb back at Becca. “Hank would be at his typewriter and the noise of it would make me insane so I’d put some music on and look at recipes I’d torn out of pages from magazines. Not because I cared much about what it was, but because I liked the pictures of them.”

“You were trying to design food when you couldn’t design interiors.”

“Yeah, pretty much. And then I just decided to actually try some of them.”

“She makes the best spinach ravioli,” Becca says. “I went through a phase where I would only eat Italian food when I was little.”

“Must be because of the garlic,” Stella adds.

“I do love garlic.”

“I know, your dad told me the story of it once.”

“What story?”

“How you were ill one night as a toddler.”

“I don’t know this story.” Becca looks from Karen to Stella and then back to Karen again. “Mom?”

Karen looks slightly confused. “Yeah, I don’t...I’m not sure what story that is.”

“I’m not going to have all the finer details,” Stella starts, suddenly feeling rather embarrassed for having knowledge of an event that Karen and Becca seem unaware of. “Your dad was telling me once that he’d been genuinely terrified one night when you were a toddler and you’d had a rather high fever. A neighbor woman, someone in the building you lived in with many children, came up and used some oils on you, one of which had a strong odor of garlic.”

“Holy shit,” Karen says. “Yeah, that’s...yeah I do remember that. Kind of. Oh god, what was her name. Melanie, or something close to that. She used to call Becca ‘Pretty Baby’ all the time.”

“I don’t remember this lady,” Becca says.

“You were really little,” Karen says. “She also moved out of the building by the time you were two. But, yeah, she put all this oil on you and this little t-shirt and socks. It smelled terrible, but it did the trick. And holy fuck, did you smelled like garlic for a full week.”

“I wonder where she is now.”

“That was always the thing about New York. People were there one day and then they weren’t.”

This subdues the trio for a few moments. The current reality is that there are a lot of people who have been there one day and then not there the next, and not just in New York, but everywhere. 

“And perhaps that’s why you love garlic,” Stella says softly, finally, breaking the silence that followed.

“Interesting.” Becca contemplates her glass of wine and drums her fingers against the kitchen counter for a few moments. “I have some writing to do.”

Karen leans forward and stretches her arms across the kitchen island after Becca leaves and covers one of Stella’s hands with both of hers. “I love that you know that story,” she says.

“It’s something we used to do back when we were still long-distance. Tell stories. Mostly Hank, though. I’m sure you’re aware that he has a need to fill any silence.”

“That’s an understatement.” Karen laughs.

“Indeed.”

“Oh god, can you imagine if this had happened while you were still doing long-distance? Or even when you guys were still in London.”

“No, I really can’t. It would be…” Stella can’t even think of a word that’s fitting. Difficult. Strange. Unfathomable. The thought of it actually makes her feel a bit anxious. Karen nods and squeezes her hand.

Fish and Hank suddenly emerge from the studio and stroll into the kitchen. Fish stands just behind Karen and squeezes her hips. Stella reaches out and takes Hank’s hand in hers and brings his arms around her.

“So, what do you ladies have up your sleeve for tonight?” Fish asks.

“Salads and a cold pasta tonight,” Karen answers. “We’re going to get experimental next week.”

“I like experiments. I’ll be whipping up some more marinade tonight for the steaks this weekend. Where’s Beckster?”

“She wanted to do some writing.”

“I can learn a thing or two about discipline from her,” Hank says. “That’s exactly what I need to be doing.”

“Go on,” Stella says, patting his arms. “I’ll let you know when dinner is ready.”

Hank kisses the side of Stella’s neck before he leaves. Karen starts to pull items out of the refrigerator as Fish comes up next to Stella and leans against the kitchen island.

“Your hubs been telling you about his guitar lessons?” Fish asks.

“You’ve been giving him lessons?” 

“Refreshing what he already knows. He’s been helping me teach my group.”

“Has he?”

“He’s gonna duet with one of my kids for the concert comin’ up.”

“Are you still holding that?” Karen asks, lining up mixing bowls along the counter. “How can you?”

“We’re gonna Zoom it. That’s how they’re all doing their school now anyway.”

“That’s how I’m doing my lectures as well,” Stella says.

“Well, you ladies are of course invited. It’s on Saturday, in two weeks.”

“I’ll have to check my calendar,” Karen answers. “So many places to go right now. So many plans.”

“Hah!” Fish comes around to the other side of the island and pinches Karen on the side before giving her a bear hug from behind. “Funny lady.”

Later that night, after they’ve had dinner and Stella and Hank are lying in bed, she turns to face him and he plays with the strap of her tank top, running his finger over her shoulder to the top of her breast and back.

“I hear you’re playing in a concert in a few weeks,” she says.

“Yeah. The Trout roped me into that before I knew what was happening. He’s got me plucking out Blackbird with some 12-year-old. Supposed to be a confidence booster or something.”

“For you or the kid?”

“He didn’t specify.” Hank leans over and bites the top of Stella’s shoulder lightly and then rubs the spot with his thumb while he places kisses across her chest to her throat.

“Mm,” she answers.

“Actually,” he says, and pulls away. “I didn’t know this, but The Trout is like, a gazillionaire.”

“I presumed he was fairly wealthy from his family history.”

“Yeah, but no. He actually made a shit ton of money on investments after designing some landmark building and so he retired and now he doesn’t have to do anything and his money just makes more money.”

“Why did he retire though?”

“He didn’t like being an architect and just went with the flow of the family business, but he wanted to be a musician. So he quit and all the lessons he does now, he does it for free with this community program.”

“That’s lovely.”

“I know. When this whole shitshow started, he actually made sure all the kids he taught for had iPads so they could continue their lessons. And then because he wants them to still have their spring concert, he’s making sure all their extended families that were going to attend have iPads to watch it.”

“He has a generous soul.”

Hank flops onto his back and blows out a sigh. “And we’re just sitting here doing fucking nothing.”

“What we’re doing is equally important.”

“What  _ are _ we doing?”

“Not going out and risking exposure. For ourselves and for others.”

“It feels like nothing. Just sitting, doing fuck-all.”

“What would you rather be doing?”

“I have no idea. I’m barely qualified to exist.”

Stella scoots closer to Hank and drapes her arm over his chest and her leg over his thigh. He tips his head towards hers and holds onto her wrist as he falls asleep.

*****

In the middle of the third week, Stella is taking attendance at the top of her lecture, as she always does. She makes note of a student’s absence and starts in on the chapter outline. At the end of class, she does another attendance check.

“Mr. Diaz, would you please indicate your presence if you’re at today’s lecture.”

A moment of silence passes and then another student’s window comes into her screen. “Hector tested positive, Professor,” the student tells her. “He’s in the hospital.”

In her years of training, Stella has conditioned herself to remain emotionally neutral in all varieties of situations. However, she is out of practice. She blinks once and then nods slightly, but feels her chin begin to wobble.

“Thank you for telling me,” she says, and pauses for a moment to keep her breathing steady. “Please be sure to complete the chapter exam prior to Friday’s lecture. We’ll be starting on new material next week.”

She signs out of her lecture platform to a chorus of ‘yes, Professor.’ After closing her laptop, she places her hands on the lid and breathes deeply. It’s just like the conversation they were having the other day. Someone is there one day, and gone the next. 

When she comes downstairs, she finds Hank, Becca, and Fish in the sitting room, tuning guitars. They’re smiling and laughing about something. She turns to take the long way around to the side door so they don’t notice her, but runs into Karen in the front room, who asks her to form an opinion on some fabric samples. She obliges her and then excuses herself under the pretense of needing to review assignments. 

Later in the evening, she musters the enthusiasm to assist Karen and Becca in preparing kebabs for Fish to grill, feigns engagement in the discussion about a Netflix documentary over dinner, helps with the nightly emptying and filling of the dishwasher, and begs off a dessert of sliced fruit to go to bed early. No one questions her, but she can see the concern on Hank’s face as he looks up at her and kisses the inside of her wrist as she’s leaving. Karen, too, seems to know that something is amiss, but doesn’t say anything.

Deep into the night, she’s not sure what time it is, but she wakes with Hank breathing hotly against her shoulder. The ceiling is shimmering with silver light and she has to rub her eyes to see clearly. She hears a noise, like the soft paddling of a boat on a river. Carefully, she extricates herself from Hank’s arms and out of bed. She steps outside and takes the extra time to silently close the door behind her.

The kitchen in the main house is dimly lit with the muted glow of the overhead light above the stove. She moves towards it almost like a beacon, but stops when she hears the paddling once again and then a soft splash. Stella blinks into the darkness and is able to make out the silhouette of someone in the pool.

“Karen?” she whispers. 

“Oh shit,” Karen whispers back. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“No, I...no.” Stella steps cautiously towards the pool. Her eyes are adjusting more to the darkness and she can make out the dark shape of Karen swimming towards her from the opposite side. She reaches the edge just as Karen does.

“You should come in.”

“I’m not sure where I put my swimsuit. I’d probably wake Hank trying to find it.”

Karen laughs quietly. “Who needs a swimsuit?”

“I’ve never skinny dipped before.”

“It’s fantastic. Especially after midnight.”

“Is that why you’re out here at this hour?”

“Sort of a habit of mine if I can’t sleep.”

“Why can’t you sleep?”

“If I knew, I’d probably be able to sleep.” Karen suddenly dunks her head underwater and then comes back up and clears the water from her face. “Come in. I always bring extra towels down, so don’t worry about that.”

“Alright.”

Stella considers the available options of entering the pool. She decides to use the stairs in the shallow end and leave her nightclothes on one of the deck chairs nearby. She undresses with her back to the pool, but doesn’t hesitate to turn around and descend the steps. Initially bracing herself for a sudden chill, she’s pleasantly surprised that even though she knows it’s heated, it’s still warmer than she was expecting.

As she wades in further, past her knees, past her hips, up to her shoulders, she’s amazed at how different and exhilarating it feels to slip through the water completely bare. She had no idea the absence of a swimsuit would make such a difference. Towards the deeper end of the pool, Karen floats silently on her back and Stella glides closer.

“You’re right,” Stella says. “It is fantastic.”

“Mmhm.”

Doing a half-turn, Stella lays her head back and pulls her legs up before natural buoyancy takes over and she relaxes, floating next to Karen, but in the opposite direction. There is no moon that she can see, but the longer she stares up into the sky, the more stars appear.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Karen says. “But, you didn’t seem like yourself at dinner. Everything okay?”

Stella could easily lie and tell her everything is fine, but even the thought of it feels wrong to her and she doesn’t want to risk putting up walls between herself and Karen. Not when all she needs to do is share such a small piece of herself.

“No, it isn’t,” Stella says. “I had a student that was absent from my lecture this afternoon and found out at the end of class that he had tested positive and is in hospital.”

“Oh, shit.”

“I don’t know what the proper thing to do is.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve been thinking over it all evening. I’ve been...reflecting on certain experiences in my life. One in particular, which was quite challenging.”

Stella doesn’t realize she’s drifted so far until she bumps the side of the pool. She pushes lightly away until she’s back to center.

“What was it?” Karen asks. “Or, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“One of the last cases I worked as an active investigator was a serial rapist and murderer. It was extremely taxing for a variety of reasons, but when we had the suspect in custody, he managed to overpower one of the guards and attack me during an interrogation.”

“Jesus!”

“It was vicious and brutal and to put it bluntly, I was severely beaten.”

“Oh my god, Stella.” Karen finds Stella’s hand in the water and holds it tightly.

“I’m quite alright. It was many years ago now.” Stella gives Karen’s hand a reassuring squeeze, but Karen doesn’t let go.

“I had no idea.”

“It’s alright. The reason it’s been on my mind is because whilst in hospital being treated after the incident, I had a very kind doctor who sat with me because he didn’t like the idea that I was alone. It occurred to him, but it did not occur to me, that I might need someone. I had no close friends, no family, no relationship to speak of because I could not and would not let anyone close to me.”

Karen let’s go of Stella’s hand. The water ripples around them as Karen comes out of her float and treads water beside her. Stella also comes out of her float and begins to tread water.

“How did you get from there to here?” Karen asks. 

“I’m a work in progress. Do you know that it took me years just to be able to hold Hank’s hand in public?”

“No, I didn’t.”

Stella breathes deeply and lifts her left hand out of the water to flex her fingers. Her wedding ring twinkles softly. “I called Hank, actually,” she says. “After the case was closed and I returned home, just a few days after being released from the hospital. I called him. I didn’t tell him what had happened, I only asked him if he would come to London to see me and he came straight away.”

“That certainly sounds like Hank.”

“We had only met twice before that. And both times...to be perfectly frank, our only connection was sex. I asked him to come to London knowing full well there was a strong possibility he would be angry with me for luring him out under false pretenses.”

“I’m guessing he didn’t do that. And not just because you guys are where you are today, but because I know Hank.”

“ _ I _ didn’t know him. Not at that time. I only knew that I did not want to be alone and he was the only person I could think of that might not judge me for it.”

“Do you know, that’s something that used to piss me off so much about him? I always felt like he was such a selfish prick because he would drop everything for anyone at any time, no questions asked, regardless of how I felt about it. But, really, I was the selfish prick because what I really wanted was for his full attention and to make me his only priority.”

“I had to learn how to bth be a priority and to prioritize someone else into my life.”

“The funny thing is, even when I  _ was _ his only priority, I still wasn’t happy.” Karen shakes her head suddenly and then dunks herself underwater. She comes back up, slicking her hair back. “Let’s come over to where we can stand. My arms are getting tired.”

Stella follows Karen towards the shallow end of the pool. Where Karen can stand with the tops of her shoulders exposed, Stella is still chin deep and moves back just a bit.

“Back to your story,” Karen says. “I don’t think you were finished.”

“It’s just that what we’ve seen, what we’ve read, I know that those that have fallen ill and are in hospital are alone. And not by choice. There is no option to have a loved one sit by.”

“It fucking sucks. I don’t even like the thought of it.”

“I know. But, it makes me think back on the training I went through and how it was instilled in me to be calm, rational, to think critically, to compartmentalize my emotions to be able to do the job.”

“You were a really fucking good detective, weren’t you? Hank said you were.”

“I was.”

“Do you miss it?”

“Yes. And no. When I began teaching, I saw it as an opportunity to mold my students into the kind of detective that I was. I think I may also be guiding them towards the same mistakes.”

“What mistakes?”

“It took me a very long time to learn compassion and empathy, and how to use it appropriately.”

“Is that something that can really be learned?”

“I think so. I told my students at the start of all of this, we were going to proceed as though nothing has changed. That this would be a lesson in adaptation to swiftly changing circumstances.”

“And now you’ve changed your mind.”

“I should have stopped to consider the effect this might have on their mental health. Stressed the importance of self-care. All I’ve wanted is to prepare them in the way that I was, but I should also be preparing them in the ways that I wasn’t.”

“What do you think you should do? To prepare them?”

“I don’t know. What do you think I should do?”

“Maybe just ask them how they’re doing.”

“I thought of that, but in my head it sounds so very superficial. When I thought about the student that’s ill, it occurred to me that I don’t know anything about him. Any of them. I don’t know why they’re in my class except that it’s a required course in the criminal justice curriculum. I don’t know where they are now or who they’re with or even if they’re alone. They’re all so much younger than Becca. I’m...worried for them.”

“I think you’ve got the hang of the compassion thing pretty well.”

“I think I preferred being emotionally stunted.”

“No, you didn’t.” Karen chuckles a little and then tips her head back. She slips easily into another float.

Stella pinches her nose and takes a deep breath. She dunks herself and stays under the surface of the water for as long as she can hold her breath and then rises slowly. She goes under again, this time doing a front stroke, gliding as far as she can before twisting while still underwater and coming up to her back. She grows drowsy as she floats somewhere in the middle of the pool, under the stars. She can finally see the half-moon, cresting high to the east.

“I’m pruning,” Karen says after what feels like hours. 

Stella is slow to follow, only just coming out of her float as Karen is taking the steps up out of the pool, moonlight glowing off her hair and shoulders. Stella glides to the shallow end, accepting a large, soft towel from Karen even before she’s half-way out.

“Let me know if you ever feel like a midnight swim again,” Karen says. “It was nice to have someone else with me.”

“Fish never comes down with you?”

“How’s this for irony, Fish doesn’t know how to swim.”

“Oh.” Stella laughs lightly. “That is...unexpected.”

“He does come down sometimes though. Sits on the edge and gets his feet wet.”

“Well, if you’re feeling the need as well and want someone to join you, I’d be happy to oblige.”

“Sleep well.”

“Good night.”

Stella retrieves her nightclothes and heads back to the guest house. She enters as quietly as she left and tosses her clothes off somewhere in the dark. It isn’t quietly enough though, and Hank shifts in bed.

“Stella?” he murmurs.

“Go back to sleep,” she says. She towel-dries her hair and hangs the damp towel up on the hook in the bathroom before she heads to bed. When she slips under the sheets, Hank rolls towards her and drapes a heavy arm over her.

“Your hair is wet,” he mumbles against the back of her shoulder. “And you smell like chlorine.”

“I went for a swim.”

“Mm.” He grunts a little and his hand makes a path from her hip to the back of her thigh. “You’re not wearing anything, Sherlock.”

“No. I didn’t know where my suit was and I didn’t want to wake you.”

“Are you saying you went skinny dipping? Without me?”

“I didn’t want to wake you.”

“If nudity is involved, you should always wake me.”

“It was rather spontaneous. Karen was-”

“Karen?” Hank picks his head up and peers over her shoulder at her. “You and Karen were out there skinny dipping?”

“Is that a problem?”

“No. No, no. Nope. Not a problem. There are a lot of thoughts running through my mind right now and none of them are a problem.”

“Don’t get any ideas.”

“Well, too late for that. My ideas even have ideas.” He pushes his hips lazily into hers and rubs her hip.

“We had a nice swim and a chat.”

“What about?”

“A student of mine tested positive. He’s in hospital.”

“Fuck. Really?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you say anything earlier?”

“I don’t know.”

He snuggles closer to her and sighs. She pats his arm for him to ease his grip on her and then shifts onto her back. He rolls over as well and they lay in the dark on their backs, similar to how she had just been floating in the pool with Karen. She reaches blindly for his hand and twines her fingers into his.

“Thank you,” she says.

“For what?”

“The second life you’ve given me.”

“Same.”

She turns and curls towards him, too tired to keep her eyes open any longer.

*****

The pasties don’t turn out quite like how they’re supposed to, but they make her feel nostalgic. She ends up sharing a few anecdotes from her childhood over dinner that she hasn’t thought about in years. Then Fish tells a few tales, then Karen, then Hank, and then Becca. It feels normal and like for a few short hours, the problems of the world fade away. It gives her an idea.

At Friday’s lecture, instead of wearing work attire, Stella dresses in more casual clothes: a white linen button-down tunic with the sleeves rolled up her forearms to the elbows, and jeans. She doesn’t curl her hair, merely clips it back out of her face, and doesn’t wear any make-up.

“Good morning,” she starts. “We’ll begin momentarily, but first I would like you all to know that I believe I was wrong when I told you that we should proceed with this course as though nothing has changed. We are all living through an unprecedented time that is characterized by fear and uncertainty. You may be feeling anxious or overwhelmed right now. You may not even understand how you feel.

“What I would like you to know is that your emotional and mental well-being is just as important as your training. There isn’t enough schooling in the world that’s going to fully prepare you for what it’s like, emotionally, when you walk into your first crime scene, or speak with someone who’s just been through a trauma, or have to face the mother, father, husband, wife, children of someone who was the unfortunate victim of a homicide. Or what it does to you after many years.

“We need to be mindful, I think. More mindful now, more than ever. If you are struggling in any way, I would like to know. And I don’t mean just with the course, I mean in any way. I will help you.”

Stella stops and assesses the gallery of students on the screen. There is silence in the classroom. No notifications for messages. Someone unmutes themselves to give a brief ‘thank you, Professor,’ and others follow.

“In lieu of starting our next chapter on Monday, when we resume after the weekend, the assignment I am giving to you is to think of the place you would most like to be right now. Any place at all. Change your background for the day into that place. For the hour and a half we convene that morning, I want to hear from all of you why you’ve chosen that particular place.”

“Will you be changing your background too, Professor?” one of the students asks.

“Yes.” She pauses again to glance through the gallery. “The last thing I’d like to request before we begin the lecture is that you keep Mr. Diaz in your thoughts. If anyone has any updates on his condition, please share them with me as well.”

Over the weekend, two students will email Stella with the anxieties they’ve been experiencing and one reaches out to tell her that Hector Diaz has been put on a ventilator.

*****

At dinner that night, over lemon herb chicken and grilled asparagus, Stella tells them her plans for Monday’s class.

“Where you gonna pick?” Fish asks.

“I’ve been trying to come up with the answer to that question all day,” she answers.

“Does it have to be somewhere you want to go or somewhere you’ve already been?” Becca asks.

“Any place. No restrictions.”

“I’ve always wanted to go to Morocco,” Karen says.

“I really liked Japan,” Becca muses, stabbing at a spear of asparagus. “I think I would go back there.”

“Bora Bora,” Hank answers, reaching under the table to slide his hand over Stella’s knee. “Hands down, favorite vacation ever.”

“Oh?” she says. “Not Switzerland?”

He chuckles and gives her knee a shake as he shakes his head.

“Karebear, soon’s this is over and things open up, we’ll go to Morocco.”

“Where would you go, Fish?” Stella asks.

“I like it here.”

“That’s cheating,” Hank says, ratting the ice cubes in his whiskey glass. “You have to name another place.”

“Why? I got my BBQ and I’m surrounded by beautiful ladies, not to mention your ugly mug. Why’d I wanna go any place else?

”He has a point,” Stella answers, leaning into Hank’s side. He pinches her knee and she slaps his hand in retaliation.

“I also want to go to Greece,” Becca says.

“Greece is lovely,” Stella tells her. “Definitely go when you get a chance.”

They move on to another topic, but Stella continues to ponder where she’d choose to be, if she could be anywhere. The sun is setting as they clear the dishes and it reminds her of her wedding day at the clearing behind the woods. She pauses in rinsing plates and stares out the kitchen window.

Becca waves a hand in front of Stella’s face, breaking the light trance she finds herself in. She blinks and hands Becca the plate to load into the dishwasher. “Sorry,” she says.

“You totally zoned out there for a minute,” Becca says.

“The spot through the woods where your father and I were married, do you know the way there?”

“Sure. It’s down the back path.”

“Can we go there? Right now?”

“Yeah.”

They leave the rest of the dishes in the sink. Karen is wiping down the table and Becca calls to her that they’ll be right back to finish up. Stella follows Becca down the path away from the guest house. The woods are more lush and overgrown than they had been in the fall of her wedding. They step carefully so as not to trip over tree roots that have come unearthed, but finally they come out of it onto the other side and it’s just as she remembers it.

The sun is still above the treetops and the sky is a myriad of pastel shades of blue and pink and purple. She steps onto the manicured lawn and pulls her phone out of her pocket. She takes her time setting up the shot that she wants and then snaps a few photos. Becca stands beside her and after a few moments, lays her head on Stella’s shoulder. They stand quietly and watch the sun go down.

“I’m really glad you guys decided to come up and stay,” Becca says. 

“I am as well.” Stella puts her phone in her pocket and links her arm with Becca’s.

“I thought I’d be cool being alone. I like being alone. And then after a week of it I was already...I guess I don’t like being alone as much as I thought I did. I like to be  _ by myself _ , but with other people around. Does that make sense?”

“It does.”

“Why’d you want to come out to this spot?”

“Because I think that I already am where I want to be.”

“Like Fish.”

“Yeah.”

“I really hope that kid in your class is okay.”

“I do as well.”

“Do you think this will be over any time soon?”

Stella shakes her head lightly. “Not any time soon.”

*****

Monday’s class goes well. She starts off the informal chat by sharing that the photo she took over the weekend is where she was married and leaves it at that. A majority of students have chosen tropical locations as their preferred destination. One chooses his grandparent’s farm. Another has a cabin in winter. She’s surprised to see familiar scenery in one background that pops up.

“Am I mistaken, Mr. Peterson, or is that Kensington Gardens?” she asks.

“Yes ma’am,” he answers. “My mother is from London. Her parents lived in Bayswater and we would visit every summer when I was little.”

“Is it safe to say you likely read Peter Pan just as often?”

He nods and laughs. “I was convinced the more time I spent there it might increase my chances of meeting him and being able to go to Neverland.”

“I have very fond memories of the park from my youth as well.”

The hours fly by and class comes to a close. She reminds her students to start on the next chapter and submit any questions ahead of the next lecture. When she closes her computer, she feels lighter.

At dinner, they ask how it went and though she would be able to recite to them every story she heard that day, she limits it to the most interesting or humorous. It’s a good start to the week and it makes her feel optimistic.

*****

The weekend comes and Hank spends most of the day with Fish, in preparation for the children’s concert. There are last minute practice sessions and testing of equipment to be done. Stella is both surprised and amused that Hank has taken such an interest in helping Fish with his students.

At the prescribed time, Stella, Becca, and Karen gather in the sitting room where Becca has set up the Zoom link to appear on the television somehow. Because the concert is early in the evening, dinner is postponed until later. Some of Fish’s students are quite young, only five or six years old, and they have strict bedtimes. The littlest one is a girl that plays Twinkle Twinkle Little Star on a pink guitar so small it’s hardly bigger than a ukulele. 

As the concert goes on, the kids progress in skill. Hank’s duet with the boy named Dylan is towards the end. It’s clear the boy is exceptional, but lacks confidence. There’s a tremble in his voice when he introduces himself and the song.

“My name is Hank, I’ll be joining Dylan tonight,” Hank says. “Any wrong notes you might hear belong to me and not the kid.”

The first few bars come slowly and haltingly, but once Dylan gets going, the song seems to pour out of him fluidly. His eyes stay fixed on the screen like he’s following along with Hank, keeping in sync and on tempo. When the song ends, the boy puffs his cheeks up and lets out a huge breath and his shoulders loosen.

“Virtual fist bump, D,” Hank says, holding a fist out and leaning towards the eye of the camera on him. “Bring it in.”

There are three more students after Dylan, one other boy and lastly, two sisters on electric guitar playing I Love Rock ‘N Roll. Even without knowing much about modern music or rock, Stella is quite impressed by the whole thing.

Dinner feels festive that night. Fish floats high on the success of the concert and fields calls from happy parents as he grills steaks. Becca reminisces about her time in a band and how much she used to love playing. Karen finds some videos on her phone from a few of those concerts. Hank tells a story about buying Becca her first guitar, and Becca follows with a story about Hank getting her an even better vintage guitar from a man that was clearly having a hard time making ends meet.

“He was trying to sell it back to the guitar store,” Becca says. “He had a little kid with him and you could really tell things weren’t going great, otherwise he would not be getting rid of a ‘61 Les Paul Special.”

“Beckster, I hope you still have that guitar,” Fish says. 

“Of course I do.”

“Pete Townshend plays that guitar.”

“Who?” Hank asks.

“Wiseass,” Fish retorts.

“Anyway, the guy at the shop wasn’t interested,” Becca continues, and Stella recognizes the adoring look on her face as she tells the story. “But, since we were there to get a guitar, we really didn’t care where it came from. Dad stopped the guy on his way out and handed him an envelope of cash.” 

Hank shrugs it off. “Dads gotta stick together.”

They part ways for the night after dinner. After finishing her nightly rituals in the bathroom, when she comes out, Hank is sitting on the edge of the bed with a guitar in his lap. She stands before him, rubbing lotion into her hands and arms.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve heard you play,” she says.

“Guess I just fell out of the habit.”

“You’re quite good.”

“I’ve been practicing something for you.”

“Have you?”

He nods and plucks the guitar strings softly as he adjusts the tuning pegs. “Forgive the singing, I can barely carry a tune in a bucket.”

“A full serenade?” she asks with a smile.

“Goin’ all out for you.”

He starts playing and she doesn’t immediately recognize the tune, but just before he starts singing she realizes it’s Elton John’s Your Song. He’s right about not being the world’s greatest singer, but she doesn’t hear any imperfections. She only hears the man that loves her playing a song for her. Never in a million years would she have considered herself to be susceptible to something so cliche and sappy, but she is. It makes her chest ache in the best possible way, filled with how much she feels for him that she never thought she was capable of.

When he finishes, he looks up at her and smiles. She takes the guitar out of his hands and sets it aside. In two steps, she’s back before him and then straddles his lap. He pulls her in close and she cups his face in her hands.

“Go slow,” she says.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

Despite the request, he leans back just a little and takes the bottom of the shirt to pull it off. He doesn’t remove her bra though, not yet. Instead, he buries his face in the valley of her breasts. He traces her peaks and curves with his tongue and then scrapes his teeth over the satin cups before pulling one side down to take her into his mouth. She threads her fingers through his hair to encourage him, reminding herself that even if this act doesn’t do much for her, it’s a form of worship for him.

Without warning, he takes a hard grip on the backs of her thighs and stands just long enough to turn the tables and have her on her back on the bed. He’s above her on his knees and reaches back to grab the collar of his shirt and yank it off. She dips her fingers into the top of his jeans to pull him to her, but he takes her hands, one by one, and pins them to the bed above her head.

“Slow,” he says.

She nods, but arches up and pushes her chest into his. He eases his weight onto her to keep her in place and she wraps her legs around his hips. When he kisses her, he goes in deep and she moans her approval. He releases her hands and she wraps her arms around his back as he cradles her head.

She’s never told him this, but one of the reasons she prefers hard and fast over slow is that she doesn’t like the time that slowness gives her to think. It makes her susceptible, vulnerable, and opens something inside her like a deep need for more of him. Not physically, but emotionally. The slower he goes, the more she needs him and the more afraid she becomes of losing what she has because it’s so perfect. Perfectly messy and challenging and exasperating and lovely and crazy and perfect. Tonight, she thinks that if she were to ever lose him, she would lose so much more than just him.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Nothing at all.”

“There’s something.”

“I think I just understand what you meant a few weeks ago when you told me I was the only thing that made sense to you. Everything is right. Even if the world seems like it’s falling apart, you feel right. And...for the first time in my life, I am grateful to have someone by my side.”

“All that and you haven’t even been dicked down yet. I should’ve been singing to you years ago.”

“Rest assured it certainly wasn’t your voice that led me to that conclusion.”

“Ouch.”

She caresses his back lightly and then holds the back of his neck as her thumbs skim along his jaw. He leans in to kiss her again and again and again. They rock against each other. Stella pushes up and pulls him down just as he presses into her and pulls her up. They’re both breathless before they even manage to start removing the rest of their clothes. Her bra is the next thing to go and then his pants, her pants and lastly her panties. His jockey shorts only make it past his hips. 

They both groan in relief when he enters her. She folds her knees back towards her chest and takes a firm grip on his ass. He starts off slow and deep, lazily rolling his hips against her. There’s sweat at his temples, but not from exertion, from the self-control he’s using to make it last. He pulls out and rolls them over so she’s on top.

“Giving up so soon?” she asks.

“Just giving you a chance to drive for awhile.”

“You’re a very generous lover.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere.”

She holds his gaze as she sinks down onto him. “I’m already right where I want to be.”

They play with the give and take for a bit, bantering and bartering for dominance and control of the pace, but then it gets serious. He brings her to her first orgasm with his hands as she grinds down onto him and he waits for her thighs to stop quaking before bringing her to her hands and knees. The stinging slap of his hand on her ass as he drives into her ushers in her second release. He soon follows, groaning out his pleasure as he pulls so roughly at her hips that she can already feel the sweet bruises blooming under his fingers.

They both collapse. He drags her up against him even though they’re both hot and sweaty and slippery. Her hair is damp and clings to the back of her neck and shoulders.

“In case you were wondering if quarantine had affected my virility, I think you just got your answer,” he says.

“Your virility is always my top concern.”

“Mm.” He kisses the back of her arm and rests the side of his face on her bicep. “What do you think about going skinny dipping? Unless you can only get naked in the pool with my ex.”

“Now?”

“You have other plans?”

“Yes, I’ve a rendezvous with my other husband in an hour’s time.”

“We can make it a quick dip then so you don’t have to keep him waiting.”

She chuckles softly as he presses exaggerated kisses down her arm and hip and belly. And then he lays his head down on her thigh and she strokes his hair for some time, content to soak in the afterglow. He finally gets up, goes to the bathroom, and returns with two towels.

“Come on, Sherlock,” he says. “I want to get my naked in the pool with you.”

*****

Stella wakes in the morning to the sound of rain. The room is darker than usual, even for the early hour. She manages to slide out of bed without disturbing Hank and she grabs her robe to wrap up in before opening her laptop and sitting down at the small table in the corner. She has four emails from late yesterday evening all with the subject: Hector Diaz. She only opens the first one and then closes her laptop and sits in silence until Hank wakes.

“No fair not being naked,” Hank mumbles as his eyes drift open and shut. He rolls over and stretches languidly. When she doesn’t respond, he lifts up onto his elbows and blinks at her, hair spiking up unnaturally at all angles. “What’s wrong, Sherlock? Whatever I’ve done to piss you off before even waking up, I sincerely apologize.”

“My student succumbed last night.”

“Succumbed as in…”

Stella nods and steeples her hands in front of her chin.

“Shit,” Hank whispers and then drags half the bedsheets with him as he tries to get out of bed. He kneels down next to where she’s sitting and looks up at her. “Stella, I’m sorry.”

“So am I.”

*****

Sunday is brunch day, another meal where they gather together. And though Stella has no appetite, she heads to the main house with Hank anyway, determined not to sit and wallow. Besides, the rain has stopped and the sky is beginning to open up. As they make their way across the soaked grass and around the pool, he hooks his pinkie finger with hers and gives her a squeeze. She holds on, feeling anchored in that moment.

“Hey,” Karen greets as Hank opens the sliding door and ushers Stella inside. “I just put a fruit platter in the fridge. Becca wants waffles so I was looking for the...what happened? What’s wrong?”

“Is it that obvious?” Stella asks, already weary.

“Her student,” Hank answers.

“Fuck. No. Fuck. Really?” Karen is on Stella in an instant, smothering her an embrace so tight it makes Stella’s eyes water.

“It’s okay,” Stella murmurs, patting Karen lightly on the back.

“It’s not okay. I know you’re being polite, but it fucking sucks, that’s what it is.”

“Yes, you’re right.”

Karen sighs and releases Stella from her embrace, but keeps one arm around her shoulder. “What can we do?” she asks.

“Nothing. I need to consider what I’ll say in class tomorrow, but I don’t believe there’s anything that will help.”

“Right. It just feels so senseless, doesn’t it? All of it. So…”

“Yes.”

“However you need to deal with it, we’re all here. For whatever.”

“Thank you, I do appreciate that.”

Stella does appreciate the sentiment very much, but she knows she also has a long way to go when it comes to openly sharing her feelings without thoroughly processing them ahead of time. She has spent too much of her life alone and had little use for depending upon anyone else. And the simple fact is, she’s confused and frightened by this situation. It’s not something she has authority or expertise in. She can’t control it or delegate tasks on it and hold anyone accountable. Even if she was still a DSI Gibson of the MPS, she would be futile.

*****

Stella spends Sunday evening in the upstairs office responding to messages from her students. As word spreads, her inbox fills with hesitant inquiries if her offer to chat informally is still open. She does her best to offer words of wisdom or comfort, knowing full well anything she says is inadequate. 

Even though Stella has left the door to the office open, Becca knocks on the frame and waits for an invitation before she enters. Stella removes her glasses and beckons her in, glad for a reprieve from the glowing screen. Words have started to blur.

“I’m going to make some hibiscus tea,” Becca says. “Thought I’d see if you wanted some.”

“No, thank you.”

“Don’t trust a Yank with a tea kettle?”

Stella smiles. “I can’t think of a thing I wouldn’t trust you with, darling girl.”

“I also wanted to ask if you’ve thought of what to say to your kids tomorrow.” Becca plops down in the chair across from the desk and slouches, linking her fingers across her abdomen.

“My kids,” Stella murmurs, softly. “Such an unfortunate age to be in your first years university, isn’t it? Not quite an adult, not really a child.”

“Every age feels unfortunate when you’re there. And then you look back and think, it wasn’t so bad as I thought.”

“Yes, I think you might be right about that.”

“Teen angst was just becoming fashionable when I went through it. And I had a lot of it.”

“I can imagine that you did.”

Becca grins cheekily. “A lot of it was just for attention. Back then, with those two, they rarely heard anything except for themselves.”

“I’m glad things are different now for you.”

“I’m just glad they’re different. I don’t know if the me of ten years ago could deal with the situation we’re in today. Not like your kids.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was pretty ragey. I felt really destructive. Like I wanted to scream and yell and break shit all the time. I got some of it out when I played music. And then I started college not knowing what the hell I wanted to do. Your kids though, they’re probably driven. I can’t imagine anyone that isn’t highly focused or motivated studying criminology. Wanting to make that their career.”

“Would it surprise you then to find out that I was more like you in my youth than you think?”

“Really?” Becca looks at Stella with a certain degree of skepticism. “No, I can’t really picture it.”

“My outlets were...less creative.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re definitely not the artsy type. That’s for sure. What were your outlets then? Breaking shit?”

“Sex. Drugs. Self-harm.”

Becca’s eyebrows shoot straight up and she sits taller. “No way.”

“Very destructive. Yet, also highly focused and motivated.”

“Then I guess the question is, what would you go back and tell yourself if you were where we are now, but back then.”

“Ah. That is what I’ve been pondering.”

“It’s like when people say they wish they knew then what they know now.”

“Yes, very much so.”

“I think you’ll figure it out then. You’re the most intelligent person I know.”

“Thank you, Becca. For this chat and for the offer for tea.”

“Anytime you want to try my tea, you let me know. I can be trusted.”

“Absolutely.”

Becca pushes herself up from the arms of the chair and then she comes around to the back of the desk. She leans down and Stella turns to meet her in an embrace. Becca kisses Stella’s cheek before she leaves and a calmness comes over Stella.

*****

“I want to start today’s lecture by thanking each and every one of you for being here today,” Stella says. “For finding the motivation to be present when I know this is probably not how you’d like to be spending your afternoon. There wasn’t a single one out of all of you who did not reach out to me yesterday in response to Mr. Diaz’s passing. I find that to be exceedingly remarkable and it speaks not only to your character, but also of the effect that one person can have on your life.”

She pauses, her eyes moving over the kaleidoscope of her students’ faces on her screen. Tiny boxes holding the weight of grief and despair and disappointment. 

“I wish that I could tell you this soon will pass. I wish that I could tell you this will be the last time you’ll have to endure what feels so senseless. But, I also know that you are in my class and on this path because of who you are.

“You are the ones that want to make a difference. You want to help. You want to right wrongs. You want to make the world a better place. You will only do some of that. Along the way you will feel discouraged, frustrated, and angry. What you do with your frustration and anger, your grief over what you can not change, is what will define you, and either make you a better person, or not.

“I want to reiterate my request to you to seek help. If not from me, from the school resources, from qualified professionals, from family, from friends. I promise you it is not a weakness, it is a necessity. And it is something I very much wish that someone had told me when I was in your position.”

Stella ends with a deep breath. She considers the group in front of her again. Her kids. She feels a deep and painful connection with them in this moment that she knows intellectually is a form of trauma bonding, but it doesn’t make it less real. They are the only ones who know what it’s like to be in this space, together, at this time. It feels like a watershed moment in all their lives. She only hopes the ultimate impact will be positive.

“Let us take a moment to thank Mr. Diaz for his contribution to our class and we’ll begin in his honor.”

*****

Stella comes down from her lecture feeling hopeful. Despite everything, her class was engaged and thoughtful. She expects to find everyone gathered in the sitting room or kitchen, as they tend to do in the late afternoon, but there’s only Fish, sitting on the kitchen island with a bowl of cereal, gazing out the window.

“Where is everyone?” she asks.

“Beckster and Karebear went for a walk. Moody took over Dylan’s guitar lesson today so they can continue an argument over who rocks harder, The Stones or Zeppelin.”

“Thank you for giving him something to do.”

“No, thank you. The kids love ‘im. He’s helped expand the business.”

“I thought you did this for free.”

Fish shrugs. “Business is business. The more the better.”

“I’m sorry I’ve been remiss in thanking you for allowing us to stay with you.”

“Bah.”

“I feel I only ever really speak with Karen about it, but I should be thanking you as well.”

“More the better. Family’s gotta stick together.”

“Yes, that’s what...I’m learning that.”

“Your class go okay? Kids alright?”

“I think they will be. I wish I knew how to do more though. Actually, I’ve been giving it some thought lately and I think that I might enroll in some psychology courses.”

“Huh. Would’ve thought with all you’ve done you’d’ve studied some psych.”

“Yes, I have two of my degrees in Abnormal Psychology and Forensic Psychology. But, I was thinking of studying Child Psychology this time around.”

“How many degrees you got?”

“Hundreds,” she murmurs. 

Fish nods thoughtfully. “Architecture?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“I got one up on ya then!”

She smiles. “And I can not play an instrument either.”

“I’ll teach ya. Come on in the studio some time.”

“I may have to take you up on that offer once the semester ends.”

“Hot dog. Got a guitar with your name on it even.”

“In two weeks time, I’d be happy to join the ranks of your esteemed pupils.”

*****

The week drags by. Even the weather seems depressed, raining most mornings and staying overcast throughout the day. Her students are subdued. Stella starts sleeping fitfully again, exhausting herself by the weekend. Sunday morning she wakes alone, which is strange. She’s usually up well before Hank on any given day and it’s still fairly early. It’s brunch day, so she doesn’t feel much compulsion to get up, but when she looks at her phone she also realizes it’s Mother’s Day.

Although she wonders where Hank has gone, she’s only mildly curious and not worried. It’s entirely possible he needed to help Fish with some lessons and forgot to inform her. She is surprised that she didn’t even feel him slip out of bed or hear him leave.

Stella gets out of bed and opens the closet. She’s had a gift for Karen stowed away that she’s needed to wrap for a few weeks: a photo of Becca on an evening they’d gone to dinner, back when she’d visited London and Hank and Stella were still living there. She’d had the photo turned to black and white, printed, matted and framed. Thank goodness for online ordering. All she needs to do is wrap it in tissue paper and arrange it nicely in the gift bag she also ordered.

And there’s also the matter of the card. She’s had it for weeks and has struggled to find the words she wants to write. It’s times like this that she’s envious of Hank and of Becca and their ability to express themselves so honestly. She sits at the desk with the blank card and a pen in hand.

_ Karen,  _

_ Thank you for sharing your daughter with me and for welcoming me into her life as well as yours. You will never know how much I have learned about what it means to be a mother from you. Thank you for your generosity and wisdom. You are an inspiration and you will forever have my esteem and my admiration and my gratitude. _

_ Warm regards, _

_ Stella _

Stella sighs and puts down the pen. It’s taken her a quarter of an hour to write the card and she’s still not sure if it’s adequate. It will have to be. She slips the card into its envelope, seals it, and writes Karen’s name on the front before she tucks it into the gift bag. And then she gets herself ready for brunch.

It’s surprisingly sunny and warm out. No rain and not a cloud in the sky. Karen is sitting at the patio table with sunglasses on, reading a book, when Stella comes up to the house. She waves her hand slightly as Stella approaches and closes her book.

“We’re banned from the kitchen,” Karen says. “They’re cooking up some sort of surprise in there.”

“Do we trust them?”

“I think so. Knowing Fish he would try to grill pancakes if he could, but since we’re not banned from the patio, that’s probably a good sign.”

Stella laughs and sits down across from Karen. Shyly, she slides the gift bag across the table towards her, grateful that she actually has the opportunity to give Karen the gift while they’re alone.

“What’s this?” Karen asks.

“I wanted to get you something.”

“Oh my god, you’re so sweet. You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Well, I guess that makes us even because I got you something too.” Karen reaches down and presents a similarly sized gift bag to Stella. They both laugh.

“Shall we open them at the same time?”

“Yes.”

Stella rifles through the tissue paper in her bag and Karen does the same. Since Karen takes the card out first, Stella does the same. Her name is written on the front in black calligraphy. The card itself is made of parchment paper and very simple. There are two birds in watercolor on the front, a large bird and a smaller bird.

_ Stella - Let me be the first to wish you the happiest of Mother’s Days and know that I couldn’t have asked for a better bonus Mom for Becca than you. You have enriched her life as well as mine and I am so so so so so so so happy to share this day with you. _

_ Love, Karen _

“You’re gonna make me cry,” Karen says, putting the card down and reaching across the table for Stella’s hands. Stella’s own eyes are watering as she gives Karen’s her hands.

“Words are not my forte like how they are for Hank and Becca,” Stella says. 

Karen squeezes Stella’s hands tightly. “Are you kidding me? This is an amazing card, thank you.”

“What you wrote means a lot to me as well.”

“Ach, okay.” Karen lets go of Stella’s hands and then fans her face for a few moments. “Too much emotion without food. Let’s see what we got!”

There’s square box inside Stella’s bag and when she slices through the tape holding it closed with her thumbnail, she finds a framed photo of her and Becca from her wedding day. They both laugh again when they realize they both got each other photos of Becca.

“Obviously, Mom minds think alike,” Karen says.

“That must be it.”

They’re still laughing when Becca comes outside, holding a pitcher. She gives them both a rather dubious look. “What’s so funny?” she asks.

“Look what we got each other!” Karen exclaims, holding up her photo. “Photos of you!”

“You guys are weird.”

“And it’s your fault, Rebecca Moody,” Karen answers, lightly smacking Becca on the backside just as Hank comes out the door with five champagne flutes in his hand.

“What’s she done?” Hank asks. “Whatever it is, I take full responsibility. Daughter, I will defend thee to the death.”

“They’re being weird and blaming me. And now you’re being weird.”

“Actually,” Karen says. “If you think about it, it really is Hank’s fault. If he hadn’t knocked me up, we wouldn’t be here.”

“Yes, I will definitely take all the credit there,” Hank answers, placing glasses around the table. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Mimosas?” Stella asks, nodding at the pitcher in Becca’s hands.

“Bellinis.”

“Wow, you guys went all out,” Karen says.

“Thank you,” Stella says as Becca pours her a Bellini, but she looks at Hank when she says it.

*****

Brunch is exceedingly festive. They eat too much, they drink too much, and laugh a lot. Becca presents Karen with a necklace and Stella with a bracelet, both of which are sterling silver chains holding three interlocking rings of diminishing sizes in copper, gold, and silver. When Karen asks if it’s supposed to be the three of them, Becca tells her they’re meant to represent the links between the past, present, and future. Stella would like to blame the champagne for the tears that spring to her eyes, but she can’t.

Late in the afternoon, she and Hank return to the guest house and she’s full and drowsy. He lays down with her and she falls asleep to the warm press of his lips on just about every patch of exposed skin he can find. When she wakes, it’s dark outside and Hank is at the table with half a sandwich in his mouth and papers strewn all over. He’s shirtless, glasses on, a red pen behind his ear. He rips a piece of sandwich off with his teeth and chews quickly.

“What’s up, Sleeping Beauty?” he asks.

“How long was I out for?”

He shrugs. “Hungry? Made some PBJs a bit ago.”

“Still full from brunch. You should’ve woken me.”

He takes his glasses off, puts his unfinished sandwich down, and sits back in his chair. He folds his hands and swivels back and forth a little as he looks at her. “You needed it,” he finally says.

“I suppose I did.”

“Feeling better?”

“Refreshed, more or less.” She sits up and slides out of bed with the wobbliness of the freshly woken. “You editing?”

“Sort of.”

“Mm.” She rubs her eyes and stretches.

“Promise not to laugh?”

“Yes.”

“I’m writing a song.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I mean, trying. I’m doing the lyrics and Fish is going to write the melody.”

“Oh, it’s Fish now? Are the two of you, dare I say, best friends now?”

“Let’s not go that far.”

“So, you’ve formed a band?”

“Yeah, the new Simon & Garfunkel.”

“Well, I think it’s lovely.”

“Reserve your judgement until we actually manage to piece together a song.”

Stella slides one arm around Hank’s shoulder and sits down in his lap. He pulls back a little in surprise, but circles her hips and turns to a more comfortable angle in the chair. She strokes his nape and touches his face.

“Have you thought about returning to New York at all?” she asks. “Not that we’re able to, but have you thought about it?”

He holds a breath for a moment and then expels it roughly and shakes his head a little. “No. You?”

She shakes her head no as well. “I think it was a wise decision, coming here.”

“I have to begrudgingly agree.” He tips his head back and looks down the bridge of his nose at her. “The skinny dipping may have tipped the scales, so feel free to make that a regular occurance.”

She pinches the back of his neck lightly in response and he gasps and then scoops her up into his arms as he gets up from the chair. She laughs and holds on as he tries to dump her onto the bed so he ends up going down with her.

“Should we test that virility of yours?” she asks, drawing one finger lightly up his spine.

“I could go for a check-up.”

She hums a little and touches his face. He presses his cheek into her hand and then turns to kiss her palm. The bracelet Becca gave her slips down her arm a few inches and Stella stares at it as Hank nuzzles the inside of her wrist.

“Karen was right,” Stella says.

“I hate it when she’s right. About what? Coming here?”

Yes, but if not for you, we wouldn’t be here.”

“Funny how it sounds less accusatory coming from you.”

“She’s grateful. You know she is.”

“All that matters to me is how you feel.”

“Also grateful. You have given me the family I never knew I wanted or needed.”

“Then I take full credit for knocking Karen up back in the day and we won’t even mention how lousy she was at remembering to take her birth control.”

Stella chuckles and closes her eyes as Hank leans in to kiss her face. She wraps her arms around him and holds on tight.

The End


End file.
